Still Here

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Still Here

Cut grass, sweet and fragrant
Spring’s trademark
You could bottle the stuff, sell it
At Neiman Marcus
It punctuates my days
From sunup to sundown
Like the lady with the beehive on the elevator
Heavy handed with her perfume
In an effort to try hard, too hard
To cover her transgressions
Sweet smell of store bought grace

Smells like childhood and memory
Out there
Skint knees and day-light savings time
And those pint sized 747’s  go from here to there
You could set your clock by their work
Pollinating and cross-pollinating
So focused on their work
They produce guilt
In the poet
They, single-minded  and task oriented
The artist, wavering and wondering

And I am still here
Left in the wake of new beginnings
Wallflower, wondering
Why poetry dried up
A heart mining deep
Caught in transit are the words

I come to a ghost white page

Blinking cursor like an old school marm
Tapping her impatient brograns
Where are the words you claim you
Bought and paid for with your living

Where is the poetry
Saved up
On the floor of the mason jar
Like lightening bugs
Gasping for air

Still here
Polishing, pruning
Mining the story
And praying hard

The words don’t return to ash
And dust
For lack of air

Breathing deep
Still
And restless
Poet warrior
Her pen, her weapon

Seeking peace
And moving the sprinkler
To water the words

Celebrating
Poetry Month
In the still quiet
Of irony and longing

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Joining Laura Boggess for Playdates at The Wellspring

3 thoughts on “Still Here

  1. I’m still here, too. Quiet. Unsure how (or why) to move forward. Each day, one day at a time. Love the phrase, “words caught in transit…” Wondering when the words will come, where they will land. “Wavering…wondering…tapping…gasping…polishing…pruning…praying hard…breathing deep…seeking peace…celebrating…” – yes! Great words for an on-going process.

    1. Maureen so grateful to hear your sweet voice in the comments today. When I need a friendly word from a reader yours were there for me to unwrap. When I am honest about writers block or quiet times, I always find such solace and encouragement from the Saints. You voice is important and needed. Keep writing and pouring into your art. Grace and peace to you, elizabeth

  2. I’m glad you’re still here, still collecting words, paying attention to life … this is where beauty is. And now I am smelling fresh cut grass …

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